Fairen Fall
by Mithara Tolthoron
Summary: A boy with a secret comes to Hogwarts, in the middle of fourth year, no less. Who can say what his path will be? Feedback greatly appreciated, revisions forthcoming.
1. FF: Arrival

Title: Fairen Fall  
  
Author: Mithara  
  
Part 1 of an unknown sum (1/?)  
  
Summary: A new boy comes in, in the middle of fourth year, no less. How will Hogwarts change around him? Slash ahead. readers beware.  
  
Author's Note: AU Fic! This is serious revisionist history. Canon holds until the end of book 3, Lupin remained the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, and 4th year is completely different, with no Triwizard Tournament. I apologize for the horrible inconsistencies I'm sure this will develop, but the evil plot bunny won't leave me alone.  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. If they were, they would be much less happy, and much less dressed. So don't sue me. You'll get a wet cast and a bit of lint.  
  
** Denotes direct thoughts.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Ryn regarded the group of friendly, smiling faces before him with badly disguised panic. His pale, long fingered hands clutched at the fabric of his robe, slightly uneven but very white teeth worrying his full lower lip. His eyes held within their blue-violet depths a quiet desperation to be anywhere but there. ** Oh god.. They'll know.. What will they do? Oh god.**  
  
"This, students, is Varyn Tanner, son of Irena and Joel Tanner, members of the Ministry of Magic. He has been living with his parents in Rumania, and was until now unable to physically attend the school, though I'm sure you'll find that he has kept up with his studies." Dumbledore smiled his kindly smile, eyes twinkling, and patted the nervous boy on the shoulder. "He will be joining the fourth years in their studies, with the exception of Herbology, which he will be conducting as individual study, owing to his advanced status in that class.  
  
Harry blinked as Ron nudged him in the side, muttering quietly, "Lucky him, eh? No dirt under his nails and pink earmuffs." Harry grinned, but did not reply, though Hermione felt no such compunction, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.  
  
"What in the world do you think independent study is, you ninny? He's probably spent his time studying pink-stemmed Zefora and transplanting enchanted mache, and all sorts of things that we haven't got to do yet." She sighed, and her eyes went a little dreamy. "He is awfully cute, isn't he?" Ron made a small, amused noise, which Harry quickly followed after a small bout of sarcastic eyelash batting, but didn't say anything under Hermione's quelling glare.  
  
Dumbledore, in his ceremonial pointy hat, towered over the new student, who, Harry noted, looked as if he'd rather be anywhere but where he was. Harry smiled vaguely, empathizing completely.  
  
"- And I am sure the boys of Gryffindor will make you more than welcome." Harry blinked, momentarily lost. Oh. Apparently he'd missed part of the Headmaster's missive, so he just shrugged, and hoped he'd remember to ask Ron if he'd missed anything important later.  
  
"Now, all those who are NOT going to be involved with the cleanup of Master Mondgum's Advanced Chicanery classroom are free to go back to your common rooms and study." With that, Dumbledore clomped swiftly off the podium at the front of the Great Hall where the teachers ate, and disappeared to. wherever Dumbledore went when he wasn't in the public eye.  
  
Hermione took it upon herself to introduce Harry and Ron to the new boy, who was being accosted by - surprise of surprises, Malfoy and Co. "That will be quite enough, Draco. We should be showing Varyn where his rooms are." A lofty glare somehow rolled down her snubbed nose, banishing the sneering Malfoy and the Loom twins to the depths - in other words, the Slytherin common room.  
  
Once they were gone, Hermione flashed a blinding smile that - combined with her teeth-of-reduced-size - made her otherwise rather plain face pretty. After a brief, considering glance at the boy; he was far too pale to be healthy, and his black robes - oddly high necked and fitted to his waist - were loose, as if he has recently lost a good deal of weight. His hair, Hermione was surprised to note, continued after the heavy bangs that partially obscured his eyes, forming a wrist thick braid that disappeared behind his back.  
  
"Hello. I am Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley," She extended a hand as the redhead ducked his head in acknowledgement, grinning feebly. Ryn didn't seem to want to take her hand, looking faintly shocked, so Hermione barged on. "And this, as you've probably guessed, is Harry Potter." She motioned with a flourish to Harry, grinning at the mildly stricken look adorning Harry's face.  
  
Varyn grinned weakly at them all, then swallowed, and replied in a quiet tenor, "Nice to make your acquaintance." He then grinned shyly, and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, other hand straying into pocket. "Y'can call my Ryn, if you want."  
  
With a relieved smile, Harry offered his greeting. "It's nice to meet someone who's first words aren't 'Wow! Can I see your scar?" Harry cast an amused glance at Ron, who pretended to be reproachful, before continuing. "It is nice to meet you, Ryn. Want us to show you how to get to the common room? It's a little bit like a maze, only without the bit of cheese at the end." Ron snickered as the four walked towards the stairway that led - on every day except Tuesday - to the Gryffindor common room. "Unless Fred and George are up to something, and then sometimes you get whiskers, too." 


	2. FF: History or Why Hermione Has Hearts A...

Title: Fairen Fall (2/?)  
  
Author: Mithara  
  
Summary: Ryn settles in. Harry shows him their room; Hermione quizzes Ryn on history (falling in love in the process), the gang studies, and the seeds of a disaster are planted.  
  
Author's Note: AU Fic! This is serious revisionist history. See part 1 for explanation. I blithely invent history, feel free to mock or use, as you will.  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. If they were, they would be much less happy, and much less dressed. So don't sue me. You'll get a wet cast and a bit of lint.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When they made it to the common room, most of the other students had already arrived, and had settled into their nooks and crannies for a night of study. Or not. "Oi!" A voice cut across the burble of the room, and an almost identical one followed it.  
  
"You're the new one, right?" The two owners, both tall and lanky and obviously Ron Weasly's close relations hopped nimbly one after the other over the ottoman that was keeping them from meeting the new kid. "I'm Fred, he's George. Those are our names, what's yours?"  
  
Ryn blinked as Ron rolled his eyes to the sky, raising his hands in mock- supplication. Then a sudden smile stretched across Ryn's face, the firelight giving his features a healthier cast. "I'm Ryn. Nice to meet you, Fred, George." He nodded to each in turn, making a small, surprised noise as George accosted his shoulder in friendly fashion.  
  
"Think noting of it! It's good to have you in the best House in the world! Do you play Quiddich?" George's eyes lit as he moved onto his favorite subject, not even noticing when Ryn wriggled out of his grip.  
  
With a conspiratory smile, Harry herded Ryn away from the overly enthusiastic Fred and George, who were reenacting the move that they claimed was responsible for winning the 1983 World Quiddich Cup, with complete motions.  
  
Ryn allowed himself to be herded, Ron settled in to his chair behind the table, and Hermione opened a heavy tome, to continue her ongoing crusade - doomed from the start to fail, of course - to enlighten one to the boys in her coterie to the joys of History.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"So. Do you play Quiddich?" Harry asked as he padded up the stairs, Ryn following with soundless tread.  
  
"I used to. Hurt my shoulder." Well, it was true enough. He'd played seeker, with the kids from the mountain town his parents lived in, and had dislocated his shoulder no fewer than seven times over the years. Not that that had ever stopped him for more than a few days. It had nothing to do with why he didn't play anymore. He glanced up at Harry with a rueful smile. "Can't play anymore."  
  
"That's awful." Harry grimaced, pushing the door open and slipping in to spread his arms wide. "Welcome to our humble abode." With a sunny grin, he pushed his glasses up his nose while pointing with the other hand, listing each bed's occupants. "That one's Neville's, Seamus', Dean's, Ron's, Mine, and. That must be yours, over in the corner." Indeed there was another bed in the room, with the same heavy maroon bed curtains, and the ubiquitous heavy chest at its foot. "Go on, make yourself at home, come back down when you're ready. Hermione can help you with any classes you have trouble with, if you want. She's the expert at that sort of thing." With a polite nod, Harry left, leaving Ryn in the silent room to finish unpacking.  
  
There wasn't much to unpack, really, the house elves had taken care of his clothes, his wand was in his pocket, his cauldron already in the chest, with his Potions supplies in it, and all of his other things weren't out of quarantine yet. With a quiet sigh - the first noise since Harry had left the room - he picked up his books, tucked a quill behind his ear, and hoped that they had plenty of parchment to spare.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"He seems nice enough, doesn't he?" Ron asked, as Harry took his spot at the table, leaving one open at the end.  
  
Harry grinned, pushing his unruly hair out of his eyes. "He does. Doesn't play Quiddich, but he said he used to, so maybe we can talk about it? Strategy and all that."  
  
With a disdainful sniff, Hermione mock glared at the twosome, expounding vociferously. "Quiddich is not the end-all and be-all, Harry! You of all people should know that. Alright, the Hun's invasion of Europe and consequential interruption of the Seventeenth convention for the rights of non-human minorities and it's ramifications on the interaction with the indigenous shamans of the Steppe. Ron, you take the text." She sat down, dipped her quill in the ink, and had it poised to begin taking notes.  
  
Ron, desperate for an excuse not to read, spotted Ryn coming down the stairs, weighed down by an armload of books. "Oi! Ryn! Over here!" He waved energetically, and didn't exhale until the boy was settling into the empty chair.  
  
"What're you studying?" Ryn asked quietly, setting his books in a neat pile on the corner of the table. Then he caught a glance of the book in front of Ron, who was seated to his right, and smiled with delight. "That was the convention when Torrey of Drooble turned half of the invading army's horses green, isn't it? That was one of my favorite chapters in 'Relations of the Wizards of Western Europe with Indigenous Peoples: An Overview'."  
  
Ron and Harry just looked stunned, as if Ryn had abruptly sprouted a second head. Hermione looked stunned, as if her breath had been stolen away, and small hearts seemed to be floating around her ears. "How did you know that?" Ron exclaimed, looking somewhat horrified.  
  
Ryn looked hugely confused. "Didn't everyone have Western European History?"  
  
With an unbelieving grin, Ron nodded. "Yeah! But who could learn anything from Binns? He's dead!" Ryn looked suddenly stricken, but Ron didn't notice, he was so busy explaining how boring Binns was, and how all the other Ghosts were cooler, why couldn't one of them teach history, if they seemed so set on it?  
  
Hermione and Harry didn't miss the look, but both seemingly ignored it. "Some people happened to be paying attention second year." Hermione intoned at Ron, glaring hotly. Then, with a start, she sent a disbelieving stare at Ryn. "Western European? You've done more than that? And you actually remember?" A boy who actually paid attention in classes? Oh happy day.  
  
Ryn seemed vaguely amused at Hermione's awed look. "Well, we did Oriental history last year, and Eastern European the year before that. I was going to be doing African and Islamic wizardry this year. The whirling dervishes do all sorts of neat thing with." He trailed off, red suffusing his cheeks. "What are we working on?"  
  
Hermione shook herself out of her stupor, beaming brightly at him. "Well, since these dolts are never going to understand History, I thought we'd go over our Defense homework, since we have a writing assignment due tomorrow."  
  
Ron's brow furrowed, and he bit his lower lip, deep in thought. Then remembrance dawned, and he interjected, interrupting Hermione mid-word as she explained the requirements for the assignment. "Oh, you're supposed to go talk to Lupin. Something about a collaborative effort with the Ministry or. something."  
  
Ryn looked up from the book he'd been examining, and nodded. "Alright. If there's not anything else you want me for.?"  
  
The three shook their heads, so Ryn stood, leaving his books in a neat pile at the corner of the table, and padded out of the common room.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
As they were finishing their papers on the Sallucco curse, Ron looked up from his minimum-length parchment, an ink stain on the left side of his nose. "What is the next thing we're doing in class anyway, Herm?"  
  
With a disdainful glare for the nickname, Hermione drew herself up, snubbed nose loftily raised. "If you were capable of keeping and reading your syllabus, Ronald, you would know that for the next three weeks, we're doing Vampires." 


	3. FF: Professor's Teaparty

Title: Fairen Fall (3/?)  
  
Author: Mithara  
  
Summary: The Professors have a 'pleasant' gathering between classes. This is from Dumbledore's point of view.  
  
Author's Note: AU Fic, see part 1 for explanation. This one has been sitting on the back burner for a *long* time, so don't be surprised if this sounds different in tone from the first two chapters. More will follow.  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. I am making no money and will whine if sued, and you won't get much, so don't.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
All was going well. No one had noticed the house elves painting all of the windows with a viscous, grey-green fluid that seemed almost to disappear as soon as the brush was removed. The arrangements had been made with a blood bank in Bristol, who apparently thought they were doing their part to keep a child with a horrific, rare form of hemophilia alive with their daily delivery of blood to a small house on the outskirts of town.  
  
Of course, transporting the blood from Bristol to Hogwarts was slightly less than pleasant, at least for the person who had to personally hold the bags to their skin while Apparating. This prevented magical interference, which, after a bit of judicious testing while Ryn was still under quarantine at the Ministry of Magic, they discovered had very, very unpleasant repercussions.  
  
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. He really was much too old for this sort of thing, no matter what Minerva said. "Well, it appears that the sun-proofing has been completed, and the Great Hall altered to filter ultraviolet light out of the reproduction. There are a few hiccups in the distribution to work out before the first outing, but the outlook is good that young Varyn will be able to attend."  
  
Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a slow sigh, he picked up his goblet, and regarded the coffee in it gloomily. A habit he'd picked up while in America in the twenties, all of the thoroughly British house elves seemed to be completely baffled by its manufacture, so it always tasted, for some inexplicable reason, faintly of liver. Most unpleasant. But he couldn't stop drinking it, so when Snape spoke, he only narrowly missed introducing said liver-flavored coffee into his sinuses.  
  
"I don't think he should be allowed." Snape was, for once, wearing a rather spectacular pout, which would have been a relief from his usual overbearing arrogance, except that it did extremely unfortunate things to his sallow skinned, thin-lipped face.  
  
"Do stop pouting, Severus. It's been established that he has no intent to harm, and that lovely additive you worked up should do wonders to suppress his appetite. There is precedent, and he is arguably much less dangerous than Lupin, who, need I remind you, is currently a Professor at this school." Minerva was practically oozing self-satisfaction, as well she should, and considering the coup it had been when they managed to convince Minister Fudge to allow Varyn Tanner to attend Hogwarts.  
  
It was completely incidental that he was a brilliant student, and a career in the making for one of the protégées of Lorna, head of the Study of Dangerous Creatures sub-division of the Ministry. Lorna had been one of McGonagall's favorite students, and her student's success pleased her to no end, as did Snape's irritation. Smiling a pleased smile, she transferred her gaze to Lupin, who looked a good deal less worn about the edges this year. "Speaking of which, have you seen the papers the young Tanner boy wrote while in quarantine? They are rather remarkable, aren't they?"  
  
Lupin smiled, faded blue eyes resting placidly on the space between Snape's eyebrows. "He is a rather remarkable boy, and I am sure he will be a pleasure to have in class. In fact, he's supposed to." He trailed off, and his already pale face became quite abruptly paler, eyes widening. "Oh bloody hell." He muttered quietly, so distraught that he didn't notice McGonagall's disapproving glare as he checked his watch. "Oh bloody hell!" With a start, he put down his teacup, and pushed away from the table so fast that his heavily padded armchair fell back, sound muted by the heavily padded red carpet. Which he then leapt over, leaving the room in such a hurry that no one was quite sure what to do.  
  
With an awkward cough, McGonagall pushed her square glasses up her nose, looking vaguely worried. "Does anyone know what just happened?" 


	4. FF: Pitfalls of Pride

Title: Fairen Fall (4/?)  
  
Author: Mithara  
  
Summary: We discover Lupin's mistake. The story finally earns its PG-13 rating, visual and auditory thinkers beware.  
  
Author's Note: AU Fic, see part 1 for explanation. For anyone who hasn't gotten this yet, Ryn's a... *whispers* vampire.  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. I am making no money and will whine if sued. Your winnings will be as so: Blood. Turnip. You do the math.  
  
// denotes thoughts  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The heavy mahogany door creaked as Lupin pushed open his classroom door, nostrils flaring. In the few brief seconds that it took him to scan the room, his sharp blue eyes - not nearly as dreamy as they seemed - noted a number of disturbances. Spots of blood made an uneven trail that disappeared behind his desk. The room reeked of blood and panic.  
  
Lupin took a deep breath as he rocked to the balls of his feet, every muscle tense. He closed his eyes, listening for all he was worth. A muffled sob, almost too quiet for even him to hear, followed by an echo of a retch.  
  
Letting out a soft sigh, Lupin opened his eyes, consciously relaxing the muscles that had been so recently tightened. Then his eyes swept the walls. A few more moments would not add any more to the trauma, but this had to be taken care of. The almost festive wreaths of what might almost have been tissue paper, if not for the heavy scent of garlic, and, arguably worse, the crosses all along the wall behind his podium, across from the desk where painful retching and moaning could be heard.  
  
With a muttered incantation and a contemptuous flick of his wand, the decorations ceased to be, and with the spell that followed it, an abrupt wind began to clear the air of the somewhat musty room.  
  
His brows set in a pained grimace, he almost had to force himself toward the desk, where the stench of blood - and death - grew perceptibly stronger. /I am so stupid/, he thought, shaking his head as he knelt down to peer into the shadows beneath his desk, knowing all too well what awaited him.  
  
Even so, Lupin had to consciously quell the bile he felt rising in his throat, stilling his hands to prevent them from covering his nose in self- defense. Varyn was hardly recognizable, face waxy and grey-green, wide eyes unseeing; pupils completely contracted, and irises a startling shade of livid green. Constant, almost silent heaves wracked his fragile-seeming frame, his face a contorted mask, fist stuffed firmly into his mouth, two sets of cruel looking fangs sunk deep between the bones and tendons of his hand, covered with the blood that similarly covered most of his front, and made heavy trails down his face from his eyes and nose.  
  
Lupin took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself as he reached under the desk, tense arms hauling out the almost weightless body. Ryn shivered weakly, eyes sliding closed and something almost resembling a moan made it around his clenched fist, colorless between the runnels of crusted, almost black blood.  
  
Lupin hefted the boy up, breath hitching as the icy cold of the boy's forehead came to rest against his neck. Almost abruptly, the retching stopped, leaving him ominously still. With an angry oath, Lupin stormed out of his room, the only one no one had thought to check. /I am SO stupid/.  
  
Thankfully, there was no one in the hall between his room and Madame Pomfrey's, which wasn't more than one hundred and fifty meters down the hall and to the left.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Lupin thundered into the blessedly empty Infirmary, looking almost as pale as the boy in his arms - who looked quite well and thoroughly dead, as well he might under the circumstances - fist finally freed and jaws slack, fangs still extended and his hand a bloody mockery of that appendage. "POMFREY!" Lupin thundered, carrying Ryn through the alternating sun and shadow cast by the large windows along the length of the room without fear. The house elves were known for their thoroughness, at least when allowed into rooms. This, sadly, did not include the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, after the last time one of them accidentally triggered an immobilization trap set on Lupin's desk lamp.  
  
The plump nurse swooped into the room just as Lupin reached the end farthest from the door, clutching his precious, lifeless burden close to his chest. The nurse let out a curse that Lupin wasn't sure he had ever heard before, and ushered Lupin impatiently into a back room. "Here, here... Bring the poor boy in. No one thought to check your room, did they?"  
  
Lupin's cheeks colored as he padded in behind the capable woman, following her directions until the motionless - body? - was settled as comfortably as possible onto the cot against the back wall. He then moved as far away from the motionless figure as possible, folding his hands at his waist to quiet their shaking.  
  
Pomfrey quickly bustled closer, lifting an eyelid and touching a wrist gingerly - even she was not immune to that disquieting stillness - before turning back to Lupin, normally placid brown eyes blazing. "What did you do to him? He might as well be weeks, no, months dead!" With a sniff of disdain at the quietly humming box in the corner - a Muggle 'refrigerator', made to keep things cold, and necessary to keep Ryn's blood - she returned her glare to Lupin, as if it were all his fault which, admittedly, it was.  
  
Shifting his gaze to the tips of his shoes, just visible at the hem of his robes, Lupin cleared his throat. "He... There was garlic, and crosses." He felt like a little boy caught playing with knives, which he might well be. "He made it under my desk... Found him there. They're gone now."  
  
Pomfrey nodded impatiently, then cast a despairing look at the husk of a boy lying on the cot. "We can't give him that, that, *stuff*, to start." Distaste wreathed her features, but she swiftly grabbed a pair of medical shears, and used them to part the skin on the pad of her thumb. She waited a moment for the blood to well up, then delicately swiped it across his lower lip, pulling her hand away quickly, as if the boy were an adder whom might or not bite.  
  
The effect was dramatic, his eyes flew open and his body lurched upright on the cot, only to struggle with weakened limbs towards Pomfrey, who had staunched her thumb with a bit of cotton wadding. He might have made it, too, if she hadn't thrust one of the bags of blood, cold but still viscous, at him instead. He latched onto it, fangs easily piercing the plastic, spidery ruin of a hand clutching at it like a baby with a bottle.  
  
Lupin was not sure whether to be disgusted or amazed as the smell of blood permeated the air, and the boy - he was a boy again - gained more life to him with every moment. The flesh of his hand knitted before his eyes, even as the boy's skin grew more and more life-like, his stance more steady, as if strength were flowing into him with every draught. "My god..." Lupin trailed off, eyes unable to stop tracing the features of the boy's face, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. "That's..."  
  
Pomfrey almost jumped, for her attention had also been trained on the boy. She turned then to Lupin, though he noted that her thumb was pressed to her breast, and she kept the boy in her vision. "You should probably go now, Professor Lupin. He will be alright, with a little time, and I do believe you have a class soon...?" She trailed off, one brow raised significantly.  
  
Lupin jumped. He did. And he had forgotten. /Oh, Hell/ "Oh Hell. Thank you so much, Pomfrey." He glanced at the... Varyn. He glanced at Varyn, who was patently oblivious to everything. "Please tell him I am more sorry than I can ever express, Pom."  
  
Pomfrey must have read the pain in his eyes, for she nodded, and motioned calmly, shooing him out with a wave of her hand, then returned to her vigil, another bag of blood in hand. 


End file.
